Divine Submission
by Pomonachronicles
Summary: The world is in chaos. A mysterious string of seemingly random yet horrific terrorist attacks rock the globe. Sam and company are now in a race to discover the cause of the attacks during one of the seemingly most important weeks in modern history. R&R ap
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own the Splinter Cell series or anything related to Tom Clancy... Yet.

Author's note: This is my first ff, so bear with me. :)

It takes place after Chaos Theory, but before Double Agent.

9:29 A.M December 5th, 2007

United States Embassy, Tel Aviv, Israel

Marine Corporal Hodge torpidly made his rounds on the embassy grounds. The higher ups had told those stationed at the embassy to be on heightened alert after the drafting of a new, quadrilateral security agreement between the US, France, Israel, and the newly established state of Palestine. The cool, dry breeze was a welcome change from the hotter-than-usual winter in Israel. Before he knew it however, Hodge had to give up the comfortable post and take up his position in security room. Whereas the grounds provided an easy, relaxing feeling, the booth's cramped space left anyone feeling hot and bothered.

His buddy, Corporal Rydell punched him in the arm as they passed each other. "Try to keep my seat warm for me," he joked.

"And you try not to get lost."

A running joke at the embassy was that, when Corporal Rydell was first transferred, he accidentally walked out of the front gate and down the block due following a blackout. Hodge settled down at the parabolic bank of televisions and flipped the personal 20" CRT to WNM International. He caught the lead anchor mid-broadcast.

"- have not been released, but it's estimated that the death toll is 300 and rising. Again, for those who are just tuning in, we have received word that there have been six bizarre and horrifying terrorist attacks across the globe in the last 45 minutes. In New York, the targets were 760 United Nations Plaza, Indian Point Energy Center." The screen switched to the point of view of a news helicopter in New York City, New York. "As you can see the attack seemed to be some kind of a bombing. A spokesman from the FDNY claims that the blast must have originated from within the structure, somewhere on the north side. At Indian Point, according to local officials, the security system went dead for 20 minutes during a terrorist raid that led to the death of 100 employees and extensive damage to the reactor. When asked if there was a possibility of a meltdown occurring, an NRC representative refused to comment, merely saying that 'Local residents are recommended to evacuate within a 10 mile radius.' Three other attacks have occurred in France, one at the INTERPOL headquarters in Lyon, and an assault on two French Nuclear reactors. One, located Seine and the other at Civaux. While Civaux has been deemed stable, the damage to the plant at Seine has been deemed so severe that everyone within 50 miles is to be evacuated. An EU response team has been sent into the country to prepare for a possible nuclear meltdown. And finally, in, just minutes ago the largest attack was launched against a combined attack on the residence of Palestinian President Sayid al – Hiryabia." The shot changes to what used to be the residence of al-Hiryabia. "Three city blocks are now reduced to a smoldering crater. There is no confirmation yet whether or not the President was killed or if it is connected to the other attacks today. Our hearts and prayers are with the families of all effected. We here at World News Media can only hope that this the end of the fiasco and the perpetrators can be brought to-"

The stunned Corporal saw no more of the broadcast as a loud explosion rocked the embassy building, causing the western wall to collapse on top of him.

2:00 A.M. December 5th, 2007

Towson, Maryland.

Sam Fisher awoke to the sound of his secure phone ringing loudly. He stared at the clock, wishing he could finish the last night of his two month vacation promised by Lambert for his actions during the Asian Crisis. Sam forced himself out of bed and calmly proceeded to his phone. "Yes, Lambert?"

"Sam, be ready to leave home in three minutes."

Sam's groggy eyes shot open instantly, working better then any coffee he could've imbibed. "Three minutes? What's going on?"

"I'll explain it to you on the way; the car should be outside your house in now two and a half minutes."


	2. Opening Volley

Disclaimer: I don't own the Splinter Cell series or anything related to Tom Clancy... Yet.

Author's note: I know the first chapter was a bit of an info flood, but I promise a steadier pace now and in future chapters. I changed the rating to T because there really isn't that much in terms of offensive material. For future chapters, I've decided not to include the times. Dates should suffice. Again, R&R, por favor.

December 5th, 2007

Fort Meade, Maryland.

The parking facility at the NSA headquarters was ablaze with activity. After 9/11, the 2004 information crisis, the 2006 small pox incident, and the Asian crisis, the National Security Agency, CIA, FBI, and DHS sprang into action almost instantly following significant events; what was going on today, however, had been more than merely a "significant event." On the eve of the deadliest terrorist attack on the face of the Earth, every government employee from every alphabet agency, military branch, and city hall was en route to their respective offices.

In a side entrance of the the main building, Sam Fisher was whisked through a series of halls and eventually to a hidden elevator. After a very quiet ride down the elevator, he proceeded through the usual security stations and made his way to Third Echelon's command center. Among the usual 3E staff were a two new individuals; one was easily recognizable to Sam as Defense Secretary Mason and the other was totally new altogether. Before he could inspect the visitors any longer, Sam was approached by Lambert. "Sorry for the wakeup call, Fisher."

"I've had worse; at least this time I was actually in a bed when it happened. Got anything new since the backseat briefing?" Sam asked wearily.

"ECHELON picked up a series hits from a VoIP phone in Istanbul to a set of phones in Minneapolis, Nice, and Tel Aviv approximately an hour before the first attack. If it weren't for the fact that the caller in Nice happened to be on an INTERPOL terrorist watch list. A program on piece of spyware in his computer recorded an instant message between himself and a visa holder in Lyon." Lambert paused briefly to gulp down his twice sugared coffee and continued. "I think you can figure the rest."

The splinter cell looked at his boss pensively and rubbed his eyes. "Don't tell me; I'm going to Nice?" he asked.

"Apparently I don't have to."

December 5th, 2007

Hereford, United Kingdom.

Nestled within the headquarters of RAINBOW, a group of seven imposing figures surrounded a conference table cluttered with laptops and files. Major Chavez was on a secure line for three minutes before he turned his attention to the men before him. "Alright, it looks like the lull is over; we're on call. General Clark has ordered us to launch an assault on a terrorist hideout in Minnesota. Local authorities don't want to touch it because they don't have the capacity to handle the situation. The president doesn't want the FBI to touch it because, well, he doesn't want them to touch it."

The major typed a series of commands on his laptop and caused an map and head shot to pop up on a nearby wall monitor. "The owner of the house is a man named Lawrence Bjork a.k.a. Omar Youseff. 45 years old. Muslim convert and former Berkley Professor. Contributed $20,000 to the PLO in the 90s. Our friends stateside tell us that he may be a possible sleeper cell for a follow-up attack."

Eddie Price scoffed at the idea. "The guy looks like a bloody boyscout could bring

him in. Doesn't seem like anything locals or HRT couldn't handle."

"Did I mention this guy is probably the most qualified person in that hemisphere outside of the DOD to make a suitcase nuke?" Ding retorted with a smirk.

"Duly noted; when do we fly?"

December 6th 2007

Nice, France.

In the coastal city of Nice, the air was salty and clear. The sun wouldn't grace the rooftops of the Mediterranean structures for another two hours; Sam was moving on his target. Northeast of Côte d'Azur International Airport, the edifice seemed like the others on the block; a crimson roof crowned the six story structure with a pale exterior. It was the inside, however, that made this building different. Whereas the other buildings were old style apartments, this one doubled as party headquarters for a private "consulting" firm that essentially lobbied the French government any time Palestine-related was brought up.

The security set-up at the headquarters was eclipsed only by the local airport in terms of stringency. Reinforced cameras and armed guards were abound and the main and side doors were double locked; a key card had to be inserted while a four digit code was entered. The network installed inside was even more high tech, running an advanced security suite stolen from operating systems used by the US Military, like those of the late USS Walsh. Sam decided to climb the repair scaffolding of an adjacent building and tossed a rope across the artificial canyon. Before he crossed, the splinter cell took out the light near roof access door with a carefully aimed pistol shot; this was the only source of direct light nearby and it was enough to keep a nearby camera from spotting him.

When safely on the roof, he picked the lock and crept down the concrete stairs. Moving as slowly and quietly as a snail, Fisher could hear the sound of another security camera was just around the bend. Instead of using his OCP on the camera, he ran underneath it mid-turn and picked up a piece of trash left carelessly by an employee; the wrapper to some guy's "royale with cheese" had become a nice, temporary solution to the problem. _Ah, the greatest American export._

Sam checked his OPSAT again to review his object one last time. The target was a computer on the fourth floor of the building in the office of Karim Alzahabi. Alzahabi's computer would give Third Echelon a clue as to who financed and who carried out the attacks of the previous day. Sam snaked his optic cable under the fourth floor door and found no immediate threat. He eased the door open slowly and turned left. A small maze of cubicles and halls led him to a mundane office with a glass fourth wall and a keypad locked door. _Looks more like my accountant's office than that of a terrorist mastermind._

Before Sam could open the door, he saw a beam of light pass over his head; a guard had come on the floor. The splinter cell doubled back into a cubicle and waited for the armed man to pass. Following this, he popped back out, crept up behind the guard, and grabbed him. "Bonjour."

The slightly larger man tried to struggle out of the choke hold, but Sam's knife soon blocked his neck from moving outward anymore. The guard struggled to get his words out. "Ugh, gah qui allez-vous?"

"I'm a barber who does house calls. It would be nice if you could give me some things useful in English before I use your neck to sharpen my knife."

"Allez vous faire voir," the guard grunted in defiance.

"Cute. Now I'll ask you again: anglais, trou du cul, faire vous parle il?"

"Ugh, yes I do speak English."

"Good," Sam sighed. "You see that door we just passed?"

The splinter cell turned himself and his hostage around so they both faced the proper portal. "Yes, that's Mr. Alzahabi's office. It's locked, you know."

"I can see that. What's the code for the door?"

"One four two seven."

Sam smirked briefly at the response. _That's my accountant's office number..._ "Thank you, anything else you think someone like me would want to know?"

The guard paused briefly and blurted out "We had nothing to do with what happened yesterday! The Boss k-kept mumbling all day about how the assassination of our president shouldn't go unpunished! Besides, his brother was killed at the power plant; he was a s-saftey inspector there."

"Did he have any idea who it could be?" Fisher asked, intrigued by the outburst.

"N-no, though he thought Israel was at fault."

"Oh really?" Sam asked sarcastically.

A not-so-distant gun being cocked while the light turned on acted as an answer. "Yes, really," said Alzahabi. "Now, would you mind unhanding my guard? The poor bloke works a 15 hour shift for mediocre pay and doesn't need this right now."

Sam's muscles tensed up quickly. _How could I let my guard down like that? No, I couldn't have known he was going to show up to work early._ He turned himself and the guard around slowly to face his attacker and assessed the situation. The terrorist's file labeled him as having allegedly training with Hamas and al-Qaeda before he turned to "legitimate" politics. _For all I know, this guy could be a crack shot._

Fisher let the guard go and put his hands on his head. His eyes darted left to right. "Now drop your knife; then, very slowly, take your pistol out and toss it in my direction."

Reluctantly, the splinter cell did as told. The terrorist smiled to himself, marveling at how easy it was. "Now get on your knees with your hands behind your head; again, slowly, like your withdrawal from Iraq," he chuckled.

_I guess he is an amateur. _Sam started to get down on one knee and tripped, falling shoulder first into the glass wall to his left. He received several painful lacerations, but he managed not to flinch. Meanwhile, the terrorist couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Oh, my good man, you Americans make it so easy to be ridiculed. Amir, go around and restrain him with a flexicuff him, if you don't mind."

The security guard lowered his head and backed away from his boss in shame. In French, the guard explained that he was too scared of the intruder, injured or uninjured, to try and restrain him. Alzahabi tersely chewed out his employee, and asked him to cover him while he attempted to restrain the nuisance. Shakily, the terrified guard trained his sights in the general area of the splinter cell. Sam bided his time until the terrorist was right on top of him to pull out a large shard of glass from his arm and lash outward and up; he was successful in cutting up a good portion of the man's leg, causing him to fall to the ground in pain. Fisher then grabbed Alzahabi, holding the large shard to his neck. "Amir, you might want to put that gun down; I don't think your boss is looking forward to cashing in workers comp right now."

Amir did as told by the frightening man in black, tossing over his gun and standing perfectly still as a measure of good faith. "Good boy. Now open your boss's door for me."

Following this, Sam swiftly chopped the terrorist in the back of the head and body slammed the guard. He gave poor Amir a final "goodnight" punch for good measure and went to the target computer. Moments after Sam cloned the hard drive, Lambert spoke into his ear. "Great work, Fisher. We should be able to get some useful intelligence off that drive."

"What do you want me to do with Alzahabi? Him and the guard for that matter."

There was a long pause on the other end of the implant. "Alzahabi may be useful for intelligence. Take him into the back alley with you for extraction, that way we can interrogate him on our own terms."

"And the guard?"

"Kill him. Use Alzahabi's gun to do it; make it look like a murder," Lambert replied coldly.

"We've got a problem Lambert; some of my blood got all on the scene-"

"The place is an office, Fisher, improvise. Go get some bleach from a cleaning cabinet or something. After you do as ordered, I expect you to head to extraction!"

Sam let his head decline as he sighed and acknowledged his orders. He didn't particularly like this part of his job, but orders were orders.

December 6th, 2007

Fort Meade, Maryland.

"Nice touch with the frame-up," John Clark marveled to Lambert.

The Colonel didn't bother responding, instead opting to take another sip from his coffee mug while eying the work of several 3E employees. Among the dozens of screens in the command center, one was always tuned to WNM out of convenience. After covering the clean-up efforts in France and New York, the headline under the lead anchor changed to 'SMALL TOWN TERROR?'

The newsman cleared his throat and began to read off the teleprompter with a faint smile, as if glad to see it. "In Moorhead, Minnesota a daring raid was launched today by SWAT officers of the Red River Valley SWAT Team; this, we are told, was finished just minutes ago. The raid was executed as part of a 'high risk warrant for the arrest and thorough searching of the house of Omar Youseff.' Authorities are telling us that they expected to find drug paraphernalia and automatic weapons and found bomb making material instead. There has been no word yet what kind of bomb was being worked on, though several HAZMAT teams were on site almost instantaneously to cordon off a one mile radius and a mandatory evacuation of all who live with said radius. The suspect was shot after he pulled a 9mm pistol on one of the officers and is said to be in stable condition."

While the anchor speaks, video images wash over the screen of the raid actually taking place. Men in SWAT gear breached the main and rear doors simultaneously and proceeded in quickly and efficiently. A reporter on the ground was able to zoom in enough for all to see the 'officers' make quick work of Omar Youseff with a single shot from a UMP 45 to the hand.

John Clark seemed to be exhibiting mixed emotions. On the one hand, his boys had just successfully completed the mission, though he also disproved of the trick shot. _We train these men to go for the head or center of mass and they to pull something like that._

Lambert chuckled to himself and patted Clark on the back. "Nice touch with the Hollywood shot."


	3. Retort

Disclaimer: I don't own the Splinter Cell series or anything related to Tom Clancy... Yet.

Author's note: Don't really know what to say except thanks for the reviews, keep up the R&R, etc. lol. Enjoy the latest (and imo best) chapter yet!

* * *

December 6th, 2007

Nice, France

The ride in the van was awkward for Sam; he had made a joke at Redding's expense about not having his sea legs a week ago, only to slip on a dry, stable floor during a mission. As Sam bandaged his wound in the backseat, he saw his field runner staring back at him intermittently with a smirk on his face. "You don't need to say it, Will; I know. I'm sorry."

This response led to a nervous chuckle on Redding's part. "Apology accepted, Sam, but that's not what I was smiling about."

Sam raised an eyebrow and just finished the last bandage. The splinter cell stared his field runner in the eyes and moved closer to the front of the vehicle. "Do you care to enlighten me? Or is an interrogation in order."

After contemplating the options briefly, Will gave in. "Well, you see, us field runners are always talking to each other, unlike you splinter cells. The moment before you entered the van, I got a text message from Frances Coen; she liked the gift I got her."

"A gift?" Fisher inquired.

"She's Jewish, remember? Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah, or was it last night? You get the point, though."

Sam barely allowed a smile to grace his mouth before he responded. "If you want a hint, Will; our kind of work doesn't facilitate relationships."

The field runner just shrugged it off and continued driving. Sam was going to catch some much-needed rest, but was stirred from the static in his cochlear implant. "Wakeup, Fisher. I've got some news, good, bad, and ugly."

The splinter cell stayed reclined on the bench in the back of the van and gazed at the electronic equipment he'd previously used to upload the encrypted drive to 3E. "You have my attention, Lambert. Bad news first."

"The bad news is that it's starting to look like Alzahabi was getting a good deal of money from three sources; a French diplomat, a Russian smut peddler, and a Turkish doctor."

"Sounds like the start to a bad joke," Sam quipped.

"Ehem. Anyway, the problem really is that we can't touch the diplomat until JCOS and the President approve it and we can't touch the doctor because he, according to official records, supposedly died May 2006. We don't know if he was the one who made the VoIP cal, but his IP address matches up. The ugly news is that your next objective is in Warsaw, Poland. Iosef Yanovalinko, that Russian pornographer I mentioned earlier, uses his business as a front for smuggling stolen military hardware out of Russia to the Middle East. We suspect that he may have been the supplier of the explosives and firearms used in the attacks. Your objective is going to be to check his records for any clue as to who the buyer may have been."

"Am I going to need to squeeze some information out of this Yanovalinko guy?"

"If the opportunity presents itself, torture him for what he knows."

"And the good news?"

"You get an extra two days vacation after this ordeal is finished."

December 6th, 2007

Fort Meade, Maryland

"So what do you think?"

Lambert's words roused the aged leader of RAINBOW out of his trance-like state through which he poured over the endless documents that arrived. "I think we're being led on a goose chase; this all seems just too random. All these guys are all probably connected so loosely to the true source that it could take months to figure it out. If I were to guess, though, I'd say the brains behind the attacks is probably a well connected middle eastern terror group; it wouldn't be unheard of."

The operational director of Third Echelon turned his attention to the monitor panel that displayed the views of 3 separate splinter cells' EEVs, then replied "I was actually referring to our little organization here."

"Oh. I think, for what it is, you've got a fine tool. The whole idea seems a bit odd, but that could be my age talking. You know: old school spying and old school special forces doing their own things. But I guess a little multi-tasking isn't half bad either, and your guys are doing a hell of a job so far."

"Maybe next time there is a world altering crisis, I could see how RAINBOW runs." The two men had a good laugh at that notion and refocused themselves on their jobs.

December 6th, 2007

Warsaw, Poland.

The sun had been down for five hours in this cold metropolis. A quarter mile from the Medical University of Warsaw, Sam crept tree by tree in the park. The cool, crisp air stung his face while and kept him on high alert. At any moment, a man walking his dog could probably find the splinter cell. The fact of the matter was, however, that this was the best way to get to complex unseen. A local church bell sounded indicating the hour to be 11 P.M. _Almost there._

A 6 foot tall brick wall was all that stood in Sam's way of getting into the yard. Fisher hefted his weight over the wall and quickly drew his pistol. Using his OCP, Sam knocked out the nearest light. "What the hell?" A confused guard exclaimed. From within the nearest structure, a fatigue clad man carrying a silenced AK-74 rifle jogged into the snow and looked around. Before the light came back on, Sam grabbed a nearby pebble and chucked it at a tree behind the guard. The minion did an about face and was occupied enough to allow Sam to sneak up on him. In a quick motion, the brain stem of the guard was severed by Sam's knife, rendering him a limp hunk of meat.

Fisher shot out the light he had previously used the OCP on and deposited the corpse in the dark corner. Scanning around briefly, he saw no sign of any other immediate threat. A quick glance at his OPSAT told him that, in the penthouse of this structure, was the location of Yanovalinko's base of operations. Sam's eyes darted up and down the building and spotted a fire escape. _Easy, yes. Even easier to get spotted, definitely._

The splinter cell chose, instead, to utilize use a drainage pipe to work his way onto the roof. Each passing brick made Sam wonder if the pipe would hold him. From the roof, he peered into the skylight above the objective and noted the presence of 3 men. Two men punched away at calculators and typed the results into a spreadsheet program on their computers. These were no ordinary button pushers, however; both had impressive builds that one would see from individuals serving in the armed forces and matching carbines that looked like they had been worn and torn. The third individual was seated behind an elegant oak desk, gazing at his computer screen in almost a trance, occasionally clicking away at icons that Sam couldn't quite make out. A voice entered Sam's skull. "The man playing solitaire is Yanovalinko," Lambert stated matter-of-factly. "And his boys appear to be preoccupied."

Soon, a second voice chimed in; this time, it was Grim. "Be careful trying to open the skylight. They have a security system installed; nothing major, but there are sensors in the windows and doors. Some of the stuff dates back to the 70s."

"Thanks, Grim... And thanks for no cracks about my age; your on a streak lately."

"Nah, its approaching the holidays and I figured we should be on good terms... By the way, what color dress was Mary wearing-"

Fisher decided to signal her to stop by coughing roughly before candidly mentioning "Now you don't get a card."

The voices in his head promptly ceased and he was able to get back to work. Sam cut the wire and opened the window, then hooked himself to a nearby pole. As slowly quietly as possible, Sam dangled precariously just behind the target. Toward the center of the room, the resounding, almost hypnotic music from the surround sound speakers made for a perfect masking effect. After a few minutes, Fisher was on solid ground and ready to grab is target. In a swift movement, Yanovalinko was yanked from his seat and quieted by the knife blade on his neck. "Hello, Joey," Sam whispered

"Oh God," the porn dealer announced quietly. "I wonder who is trying to get a piece out of me this time. Are you American, Canadian, or another Israeli?"

"That's none of your business... Wait, _another _Israeli?" The impact of the porn dealer's words finally sank in. Within a second, Lambert echoed Fisher in the cochlear implant. "Another Israeli?"

"Yes, a man in a black jumpsuit and heavy Israeli accent killed four guards by hand and beat me until I told him what he wanted to know. Yes I deal guns to the terrorists, yes I supplied the bomb making material, yes I got them the uranium, yes I got them the gas. For God's sake, if you are an Israeli you're government bureaucracy is worse than the Soviet Union was."

"And if I'm not?"

"Then 'Merry Christmas;' you get free news."

"Why are you being so helpful?"

"What loyalty should I have for these swine? They told me the targets would only be in either the United States or Israel. They said nothing about France!"

"Why do you care about the French?"

Yanovalinko started to tear up and took a second to catch his breath. "My mother was killed in the French attacks!"

The commanding voice in Sam's head spoke again. "Pity. Get him to tell you what he told the Israeli's; while it seems legit, he is a known criminal, after all. Then check what files he's got and proceed to extraction. I'll also have someone check in with the Israelis about the alleged operation."

"Whether or not I let you live or let you visit you mother will hinge on whether you tell me who the buyers of your goods are?"

The pornographer sighed woefully and sulked for a moment. "Well, we met through negotiations with Chinese lawyer. He was really just a mediator; the man we dealt with was an Turkish fell-"

Yanovalinko's statement was cut short as the building rocked with an explosion. The floor beneath the two groaned and gave way. Pieces of the walls shuddered and toppled on top of them. Throughout the whole ordeal, Sam made sure to beware of his knife's placement the entire time, not cutting into anything or anyone. He and his captive, along with the two musclebound accountants in the penthouse, had fallen all the way to the lobby; Sam and Yanovalinkos' fall was fortunately broken several times through different elements of the building. When the commotion ceased, Fisher searched for Yanovalinko; the poor guy was impaled through the neck by a small pipe.

"Jesus Christ, Fisher, what just happened?" Lambert cried into the splinter cell's head.

"It felt like a bomb just went off. And our pal is as dead as a door nail."

"Try to pocket his hard drive and the contents of the safe if you can and get out of there; the Polish authorities will probably be en route soon."

"You don't say?" Sam answered, not getting a retort.

Fisher dug furiously through the rubble until he came across the remains of the computer; as luck would have it, half the case was cracked right open. The safe, however, was still embedded in the wall on the penthouse floor. Sam examined the lobby and noted that the stairwell was blocked by debris. The splinter cell decided his best bet was to vault onto a nearby wall and then rebound off it to reach the second floor. Mid-rebound, Sam felt a strong pain in his leg. _Dammit, of all the times to sprain my knee._

The rest ascension was made mode comfortable thanks to the stairs, which had survived the explosion. For a moment, Sam felt he should worry about the cameras, but the fear subsided when he noticed that none of them were operational anymore, thanks to the serendipitous bomb. After the climb, Sam then had to carefully navigated the unstable and gapped floor to reach the safe. Surprisingly enough, the safe was largely intact; picking at the lock was relatively hassle-free, however. Following the climb up the rappel line he had left, the splinter cell made sure to upload the hard drive onto the OPSAT for transmission and scanned the documents from the safe. "Magnificent work, Fisher. As soon as we get through the security features of the drive, we should have a name. Just curious, Sam, why did you choose to send that and the documents first?"

"Just in case, Lambert. Just in case."

Realizing that the Polish authorities were probably already on the same street by now, Sam slid down drainage pipe and hopped back over the rear wall as swiftly as hisbad knee would allow him. In the time since he entered the apartment, a thick snow storm had begun. It wasn't until he was practically knee deep in fresh powder that Fisher even realized this. In the distance, through the ever-increasing snowfall, Sam could see the van that Redding had procured. _I'm home free. Soon, a hot shower and a cold compress for my knee; and my back for that matter. I wonder- _

Sam's dream of relaxing his injury was shattered when he felt a frighteningly familiar object grab onto his body and jolt him with 300,000 volts of electricity. Very soon, the world around him turned dark and faded away.

December 6th, 2007

Fort Meade, Maryland

A cacophony of static flooded the speakers that displayed the sound sent from Sam Fisher's implanted radio. Lambert feverously keyed his microphone and tried communicating with Sam. "Fisher! You alright? Sam?"

No responses followed and all that could be heard was the barely audible rustle of someone manhandling the splinter cell. The director of operations bashed his fist on the nearest console and barked an order to his staff. "Grim, get a GPS lock on Sam's position. Call Redding, if he hasn't already-"

"Lambert, it looks like someone just took down Sam. Can't tell if he was killed or incapacitated." Redding interjected unknowingly

Lambert glance briefly at the screen that showed Sam's vital signs; he was alive.

"Did you get a good look at them? Are you OK?" Grim asked from her station.

"I'm fine. I could only see Sam fall on the ground and a group of men grab carry him off. Big guys and lots of them. I saw five of them with some automatic weapons; three G36s, an RPK, and an AKSU. All I have in this van as a pistol."

"So they're not cops?"

"No sir."

"Then back off and go to the primary rendezvous point. We're pulling out."

Lambert walked away from his console and paced back and forth. On the one hand, he received every bit of intelligence that Sam had collected and thus didn't _need_ to save him; more over, the accepted response to the capture or death of an operative was to disavow their existence. But on the other hand...

"I can have my men mount a rescue when they get back to Hereford." General Clark announced. "I'll call our Polish contacts and see what we can do."


	4. Recall

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I've been at college for the last 6 weeks and been too busy to update. Hope ya'll have been enjoying it so far; it's going to get better, trust me.

Disclaimer: I don't own Splinter Cell or Rainbow Six, as they belong to ubisoft, redstorm, and Tom Clancy.

* * *

December 7, 2007

Chelmno, Poland The crunch of a rifle but into Sam's ribcage was enough to rouse him from his coma-like state. His eyes opened painfully to view a dark, old smelling room with a single light from a lamp. His assailant was clad in the typical terrorist garb; balaclava, camouflage, assault rifle. A second individual entered the room, letting what little warmth was left in the shack; it was apparently snowing outside. "I see you got to our target before us. If you Israelis are good for something, it's killing people."

Sam didn't respond. These guys didn't seem like members of a government, but he couldn't be sure. The speaker, oddly enough, had an Iranian accent. "Not a heavy speaker? Didn't think so; diplomacy was never an Israeli virtue."

The Iranian walked up to Sam and moved into the light. _He's bigger in person…_ Sam thought.

His captor soon ended his nice guy routine and picked Sam, wooden chair and all, up by the neck and through him to the side. He then spoke a few Persian words on the side to his friend and soon Sam was being dragged out of the shack by the back of the chair. Outside, the cold wind bit at Sam's skin. It was at this point it finally hit him that his suit was no longer on; instead, he was clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans. In the snow filled yard, Sam could see old structures, many of them crude wood shacks. He also noted the remnants of a factory like area and a sign post that he couldn't read. It was this factory that his captors brought him into; it too had a dank smell to it. _These guys aren't governmental. It wouldn't hurt to see what I can get._ In a whispered voice, Sam stated "Nice place you've got here. Time share?"

Once they reached the new room, his captor answered frankly. "Not exactly. As a Jew you should recognize this place." The captor soon looked to his partner and nodded. "Allegedly, of course." On that note, he left Sam alone with one the guards.

December 7, 2007

Fort Meade, Maryland

"Has he stopped moving?"

The query came from Lambert as a he furiously sipped his fifth cup of coffee in an hour. "Yes, he stopped somewhere around Chelmno. We're pulling up a satellite picture of the area right now."

On the main screen, a 6 foot, black and white image of a large complex of structures crackled into view. "Jesus, what the hell is that?"

Lambert asked rhetorically. Grim looked up from her computer and glanced at the image. "Abandoned military base?"

"No, that's no base." John Clark walked forward and studied the image. "You say this is in Chelmno?" He got an obligatory nod from the interested director and continued matter-of-factly "Chelmno was the site of a sub-camp of Treblinka during the Holocaust."

"A concentration camp? Why there of all places?" Lambert asked regarding the absurdity of the situation. "

If I were to guess, they'd want to keep him away from a main city for a while, and there you have an abandoned prison for free right there. No messy boarder crossing. I've got to go tell my men this."

Lambert waved the RAINBOW commander off and nearly collided with an aide while trying to head to the men's room. "Sir, you're wanted with the Deputy Undersecretary Feinlin. He's got the Israeli ambassador with him."

December 7, 2007

Frederic Chopin Airport, Warsaw, Poland

The members of RAINBOW waited patiently for the police escort that was supposed to be waiting for them. Ding felt a strong urge to make a Polish joke, but he decided against it. When their ride finally arrived, it the police seemed more like _they_ were the ones being inconvenienced. The ride was awkward and silent for more than 2 hour car ride. Upon reaching their destination, it was just shy of 1 AM of the next day. Outside was a small Polish military base with a Mi-17 helicopter warming up on the pad.

December 8, 2007

Chelmno, Poland

Over the course of 20 hours, guards came and went; each took turns getting a piece of Sam. One of the sadistic minions inflicted the most painful injury; it was a small hexagram that was carved into the right side of Sam's chest with a razor. At around 12: 45 AM, the lead captor came in to pay the splinter cell a visit. "Do you feel more inclined to be friendly?"

"Now why would I feel that?"

"I guess you wouldn't either way. Oh well. Your body is more useful anyway. Think I can get your basics? Name, rank serial number. Or just say you're Mossad and that will cover it?"

"Why do you need to know that?" Sam asked coyly.

The captor seemed to think about that for a moment, and decide to answer the easy way. "My boss wants it."

To illustrate his intentions, he withdrew a pad and pen and prepared to write down what Sam would say. Sam shrugged and replied "Coholic, first name Al. I'm a major."

Without realizing it, the terrorist wrote down the name and repeated out loud. So "You're Major Al Coholic…" Fisher began to have a hearty laugh at his captor and was even more entertained to find that the terrorist didn't get the joke. Instead, he continued. "And your serial number, Coholic?"

Sam decided to throw the terrorist for another loop by reciting the phone number of a sex line he saw a commercial for. "If you must know, its one nine zero zero four seven three nine six six nine."

This time, however, the terrorist stopped and look at the paper cautiously. "Wait a second… This isn't what the pin number of an Israeli should look like; the one's we got yesterday were different."

At first, Fisher was relieved his name trick hadn't been the cause but was even more alarmed by the latter part of the statement. "You caught other Israelis?"

"Oh yes, we have two other agents of yours. Thank goodness that Russian devil was able to tell us about his encounter the first time. This is very fortunate."

"Are they still alive?" Sam asked curiously.

The captor approached Sam and put his hand on the splinter cell's shoulder. "Yes, for now. Of course, they won't be soon and neither will you. When my boss comes by tomorrow morning and he sees you personally, we'll throw you in the gas chamber."

Sam stared at his captor incredulously and decided to call his bluff. "This place is over 60 years old. You think it will even work?"

Instead smacking Sam hard, the captor patted him on the check condescendingly. "It needed a gas source and some duct tape over one of the pipes, but it still works."

In moments, Fisher was left alone. _I've been shot at, tortured, and shot at some more. Handled small pox bombs and been explosively delivered into the ocean from 200 feet deep and now I'm going to die in a concentration camp while bound and gagged. I guess that's the most logical step…Or not. _

For what couldn't have been more than four hours later, he was left to ponder his situation. He had no lock to pick, not glass to cut with, and no way out. Suddenly, the captor came in with a guest. After a few silent nods, the guest announced "It's time."

December 8, 2007.

Chelmno, Poland

The weather was on RAINBOW's side that; as they approached it was turbulent and easily covered their insertion. When the helicopter went on standby, it cleared. The crisp, silent air was barely disturbed by the footsteps of the NATO commandos as they made their way through the woods. Dieter was the first to get in position. "I spot one guard in each tower, and one patrolling the perimeter. There is one truck parked near the entrance and another near the gas chamber; there also appears to be two beat up Audis and one nice Mercedes. On a side note, doesn't this seem a bit… disturbing?"

Ding responded "We can discuss that later. Anything else?"

"Negative."

"Johnston, anything on your end?"

The American sniper rubbed his Remington 7mm briefly for good luck. "I see two additional guards having a smoke outside the barracks. That's- wait a minute. I see one guy -looks like our objective- being dragged to the building next to the gas chamber. They're throwing him in the annex; there appear to be two other people in there, kneeling."

Chavez cursed under his breath. _Great, more hostages._ Johnston then exclaimed "JESUS!" in a particularly loud manner over the radio.

"He's not here right now, Homer. What's the going on?" Ding demanded in an annoyed tone.

"I can't be sure, but it looks like there trying to activate the gas chamber!"

"When you get a shot, fire at will. Everyone, move!"

In moments, the snow surrounding the guard became incarnadine. The guards on the grounds soon followed. From the snow, team 1 made its way from the two main entrances. In less than 45 seconds, the outer area of the camp was already secure. Ding made a B line straight for the annex, putting three rounds in the head of a masked terrorist. Vega made short work of another bad guy that Ding had regrettably missed. Dieter and Homer accidentally took aim at the head of the same terrorist making a run for cover and reduced his head to vapor. From within the gas chamber, Fisher and company could hear the screams and gunfire coming from outside and decided to take the initiative. Sam, the least tired of the group, climbed to his restrained feet began to toss himself against the chamber door. On the third try, the rusted door gave way and he tumbled to the ground. He then rolled on his side and sawed away at his restraints. After he extricated his hands and ankles, Sam helped his new comrades out of their impromptu cuffs.

The older of the two Israelis stumbled over to the corpse of a sniped guard and tossed a pistol to his compatriot; he handed Sam the man's submachine gun. His new weapon was put to good use when the splinter cell put two rounds into a guard that emerged from a nearby cabin. The remaining 9 men, including one who was clad in casual clothing and the other who was unmasked but still uniformed were both subdued with shots to the arms and shoulder. Ding almost killed his main hostage until he recognized Sam's face. He motioned to Vega with a thumbs-up. Vega followed this by throwing a green smoke grenade into the courtyard. He, Ding, and Price grabbed assisted the two captive Israeli agents and Fisher respectively; Sam tried to walk on his own, but had trouble maintaining balance. After Price put his arms back around the splinter cell's shoulder, he noted "To think, my uncle Ralph liberated the poor bastards from a camp like this; must be a tradition."

Outside the camp, the whir of the chopper coming in fast was a sign of relief. From the vehicle emerged several Polish commandos who secured the dead and wounded terrorists, as well as any signs that this camp had been recently occupied (not much could be done about the door, however). In a matter of minutes, all were either aboard the Mi-17 or the recently arrived APC convoy. On board the helicopter, Ding spoke for a few moments to Clark on the COM before passing it to Fisher. "Hello?"

"Glad to hear your voice, Sam." Lambert answered with a mild tinge of joy in his voice. "I heard you had company."

"Only for the last few minutes. I couldn't tell who my captors were, but they sounded Iranian."

"I know, Sam. I'll debrief you when you get to a secure location; the state department and our friends from the Mediterranean may be onto something."


	5. Reversal

A/N: Sorry for the delay; college workload is a btch. Anyway, here you go.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Rainbow Six or Splinter Cell franchises…

* * *

December 8, 2007 

Fort Meade, Maryland

Just a few hundred feet away from the main entrance to 3E's command center, in the main structure of the NSA head quarters, sat a plain conference room that overlooked a bank of computers. At the metal table in the center sat a delegation of Israeli personnel and a cadre of Americans. Ambassador Schumacher was a man of imposing stature and build, seeming almost out of place in a suit and tie; Lambert noted he looked like he belonged in fatigues with a rifle in his hand. On the left hand side of the Ambassador sat the local Mossad chief, a frail looking man who has probably earned his post after years of service. On Lambert's side sat Deputy Undersecretary Feinlin and an attaché from the CIA. For minutes, there was silence in the room, as if each man knew what the other was thinking.

"Would gentlemen you like some water? Mr. Ambassador?" Lambert decided to break the silence, feeling too much time was being wasted.

"No thank you," responded the Israeli side, in unison.

Catching the hint, the Ambassador began to speak. "Let's not beat around the bush. Since this is an issue that affects both of our nations, well, even the whole world, I've been authorized to disclose the following to you. Micha?"

Responding to the acknowledgement, the Mossad chief stood up and handed out a translated folder to the Americans. "As you are probably aware, the Israeli government has had a strong need to keep eyes and ears trained at our neighbors and the friends of said neighbors. Iosef Yanovalinko, while not a neighbor, has been selling his wares to Palestinian resistance and basically every terrorist organization that has "Death to Israel" in its charter. Three days before the attacks on our cities, we found a check to be mailed Yanovalinko in the apartment of a terror cell in China."

"What business does Israel have with Chinese terrorists?" The CIA attaché asked incredulously.

"They weren't Chinese. They were on the run in Afghanistan, crossed half way across central Asia, through Kazakhstan and into China. Needless to say, it's best if the Chinese don't find out about it… When we got to China, we found a lawyer who did work with our Yanovalinko. A man named Jin Mao. I gave you a dossier on him with details."

"Who hired him?"

"A man named Kenan Ewari. He is a Turkish citizen, doctor of medicine. His connection is his brother, Lieutenant Colonel Tekin Ewari. He runs the terrorist equivalent of networking website. His customers request orders for, say, a nuclear physicist, and he gives them the best offer, for a small finder's fee."

"Jesus," Undersecretary Feinlin muttered under his breath.

The Mossad chief cleared his throat at the name's mention. "Actually, speaking of which, one of his go betweens in your country is a one Jesus Alvarez. Mr. Alvarez is a Mexican-American expatriate living in Montreal. Our intel shows he was contacted to bring an unknown container into your country before the attacks began. From his profile, it looks like he probably thought they were either drugs or a crate of AK 47s."

Lambert glanced at his watch briefly and stood up. "Gentlemen, I hate to leave so abruptly, but I need to get back to my post." The 3E operations director then turned to his aide in the corner. "Franklin. Get the rest of what's said here. Ambassador, it was a pleasure meeting you."

As the Colonel reached the door, he stopped for a moment and stated bluntly "Oh, and your two missing agents are safe, Micha. They were rescued by the same men who got me an agent back."

The surprised diplomat stared at his Mossad chief who responded "Thank you."

December 8, 2007 

Hereford, England

There were a few things Sam hated: the killing of civilians, his daughter's need to reorganize his living room when she visited, and April Fools Day. If there had to be a number four on the list, he'd place being in a hospital in its appropriate spot. As one of the attending physicians examined Fisher's chest wounds, Sam's earpiece and OPSAT were brought in on a tray, right next to a complete English breakfast. Sam could hear the buzzing vibration of the OPSAT, indicating that he was being paged. "Excuse me, doctor. I have to take this call," Fisher stated.

As the doctor got up and walked out of the room, the aging splinter cell put the device on his ear and lay the OPSAT next to him. "Lambert, I've got to tell you. This vacation is amazing. Sightseeing historical landmarks. England's nice, too. I'm loving the beans for breakfast."

"This is no time for sarcasm, Sam."

"On the contrary," Fisher interjected, while taking a bite of toast with some beans, tomato, and eggs on it. "I was serious about the beans."

Lambert sighed and finally asked "What did the doctors say?"

"Nothing serious, they say. A few bruises on my face, busted nose, broken rib. I've had worse. Of course, the magen David on my chest will likely be permanent-"

The 3E director confusedly interrupted, repeating "Magen David? What's that?"

"Those two Mossad agents I was with, they said the hexagram that was carved into me looked like a magen David, the shield of David. You know, the star thing on their flag."

"Speaking of Mossad, you have a new mission should you choose to leave your vacation on hold for a few more days. My other assets are all busy."

"Sure Lambert… Where to now?"

"You're going to love this," Lambert prepared his operative. "There's military installation in Malatya, Turkey waiting for you." 

"I'll take it… Just curious, Lambert; why did you have RAINBOW come and rescue me? What happened to the 'if you're captured the government will disavow knowledge of your existence, etc'?"

"Two reasons: If we found you and the people who caught you, we would have a better idea of who's behind the attacks. Second, well… Eh, just call it a Hanukkah gift."

"Lambert, I know you know full well neither of us is Jewish; hell, I'm agnostic."

Lambert paused for a moment, and replied "Fine, it's Kwanza. Just be glad you're alive. Rest up and be ready for deployment."

December 10, 2007 

Malatya, Turkey

Deep in the southeastern portion of Turkey, lay the destination at hand. Malatya's military roots date back to the times of Rome, when the city was used as a base of operations for the Twelfth legion. At the time, its duty was to defend the Eastern part of the territory and keep order nearby; now, the city was home to the Turkish Second Army. Sam had been to this installation before, though back then he still wore dog tags. The splinter cell noticed, as peeked from under the chassis of a moving transport vehicle, that the place hadn't changed much. _Ah, the memories._

The truck stopped near the garrison, giving Fisher a chance to get off. His primary objective was to eavesdrop on a conversation between Ewari and his unknown contact in the Turkish military. The meeting was set to go down in the command building, courtesy of a joint operation by the CIA and Mossad; the usual "secure room" for such meetings was flooded by the sprinkler system during an "unauthorized test." Since no one, not even the operatives in place could get to the conversation; it was Sam's job to take unofficial minutes.

Sam skulked silently next to the guard post and peered inside; the sergeant on duty was on high alert, eyeing everything in front of him with suspicion. Fisher contemplated taking the sentry out, but decided against it. Instead, he used his OCP to take out the electronics in the booth by taking aim at the circuit panel. With the lights and cameras temporarily disabled, Sam made his way to a nearby air vent and climbed up. He barely had his legs in the metal tube when a familiar voice echoed in his head. "You're going to need to find an alternate route to the objective, Sam," Grim bluntly stated into the implant. "We just got word that a section is getting redone."

"Was there any reason why I wasn't told this until after I got in the damn thing?"

"The CIA's asset was late with his weekly update. If you go to the end of the vent, it will take you to a shell of a room. There shouldn't be anyone nearby, so you can make your way in by foot."

The splinter cell did as suggested without a word. The room was like a wooden cell, consisting of only wooden bars in a perfectly square formation, a door, dust and tools. At the other end of the door lay a tall, narrow hallway lined with identical doors with little or no identification on them. After looking around for a moment, the splinter cell performed a split jump to keep him clear over any potential heads. The hallway was lit by one plain 60 watt bulb, or used to be before Sam unscrewed it just enough to disable it. Now, the area was shrouded in near total darkness.

Beyond the hall was a sparsely lit foyer, equally as stark and skeletal as the hall. The objective was beyond the main door of the foyer, but it was guarded by an armed MP at a desk; the desk had a CCTV system of its own, with one of the cameras aimed at the foyer and soon-to-be waiting room. Luckily, the upper window above the door was not installed; a simple shot with the sticky camera solved the sound and visibility problem.

Inside, Fisher could see a nice cedar desk with Ewari sitting behind it. Opposite Ewari were three individuals: one was a European man who wore an expensive, bulletproof suit; the one to his far right was a Chinese man with a brief case on his lap; in between the two men was a seemingly out of place man clad in camouflage, body armor, and a balaclava.

"The gang's all here," Lambert noted in Sam's head. "This is pure gold that they'd all be in one place."

"Who am I dealing with, Lambert?"

"The Chinese man is a lawyer named Jin Mao. He's been one of Yanovalinko's biggest suppliers for years. His work with overseas contracts led him to run across Ewari's broth-"

."They're starting to talk, Lambert," Fisher interrupted when he heard some chatter.

"So my men will be safe here?" the man in camouflage asked.

"Yes," Ewari responded. "I've pulled enough strings to get them all visas. What about your end of the bargain, Mr. Frenaux?"

This time, it was the European man who spoke. "Everything's going to be alright. We have enough 'leads' in Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Syria to keep everyone happy and unaware."

"Beautiful! On that note, I'm afraid I must apologize for my rudeness; I have to get my staff report in by 0400. My guard can show you gentlemen out."

Lambert resumed his semi-delayed briefing. "My God, Fisher. I've got to notify the President about this. We've just opened up a whole new can of worms."

"Lambert, what's going on?"

"That French man happens to be the director of operations for INTERPOL. And I have a suspicion that man in the body armor is the man who orchestrated the attacks."

"What do you want me to do?" Sam asked.

"Try to grab our commando friend; see what he is willing to say."

Before Fisher could think to move, he heard a trio of strangely familiar sound come from his sticky camera feed. He looked into the image and saw the Chinese lawyer bleeding heavily from the neck and chest; it looked like Frenaux had executed one of his co-conspirators. Both he and Ewari were pointing semiautomatic pistols at the masked terrorist, whose own weapon was now being laid on the ground. "Lambert, I think we have a double cross on our hands."

As soon as Sam finished his sentence, he heard a cascade of footsteps underneath him; 8 SWAT-type officers stormed through the hallway and into the foyer and subsequent meeting room. On their backs were emblazoned the letters INTERPOL. In a near perfect movement, they officers breached the door, handcuffed the terrorist, and engaged in a standoff with Ewari. For seconds, the lieutenant colonel refused to put his gun down. It wasn't until one of the officers used a bean-bag round on the Turkish man that the stand-off ended. "Make that a triple cross," Lambert noted.

"Is it safe to assume my mission's changed?"

"Yes; get the hell out of there. Fifth freedom with anyone, unless it can be avoided."

Sam peered down and evaluated his options. He determined his best option would be a CS smoke grenade/flash-bang combination. Right before the flash-bang detonated, Sam covered his ears and closed his eyes; after, he jumped down and grabbed the closest SWAT officer. As his comrades were still reeling from the stun grenade and just feeling the effects of the tear gas, the poor man was being pulled into the darkness by the SIGINT ninja. "How many of your buddies are outside of here?"

"W-what?"

"I didn't stutter. Tell me how many of your buddies are outside this building in three seconds or you're going to have a new breathing hole."

"Two teams of two.. They're making sure no one escapes through the north or south do-"

With no time to spare, Sam knocked out his captive. At this point, Sam ran to the air vent he had arrived in and took it outside. After looking around and noticing no enemies nearby, he jumped out and made his way toward truck bay… only to find a large group of soldiers congregating near them. Moments later, Grim's voice popped into the splinter cell's head. "Sam, it looks like there is a small helicopter in idle on the helipad 34 meters south of your position; it's your only way out of here."

While he could've replied with an appropriate remark, Sam decided against it. Instead he grudgingly made his way toward the helipad. Remarkably, there was almost no one to be seen around the new objective, save for the pilot in the cockpit. Fisher looked around once more and made a run for it; in seconds, he was sitting in the co-pilot seat with his 5.7 in the face of a scared pilot. Pretty soon the small chopper was in the air, on its way south.

December 10, 2007 

Fort Meade, Maryland

Lambert finished typing up a small report he'd need to give to the president when he looked at the nearest television; on it was the 24 hour news station WNM with its usual anchor at the desk. "A spokesperson for the International Criminal Police Organization said that it, in conjunction with law enforcement officers of the Turkish Gendarmerie arrested two key figures in the recent December 5th attacks. A third suspect was shot and mortally wounded in the confrontation. Sources have even stated that the director of INTERPOL himself put his life on the line to assist in the apprehension of the suspects, serving a warrant ahead of the officers involved in the raid itself. Turkish military officials refused to comment when asked-"

At that point, the director of operations of Third Echelon decided to turn off the television and print his report, sighing at the upcoming mess he and everyone would face.


	6. Flanking Maneuvers

A/N: This is going to be my second to last entry for this story. Thanks a lot for the positive reviews and keep'em coming ).

Disclaimer: I don't own the Rainbow Six or Splinter Cell franchises…

* * *

December 10, 2007 

The White House, Washington, D.C.

Lambert had met with the President before, and today was like any other. In the "War Room" sat the President, the JCOS, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of Homeland Security, National Security Advisor, the DDCIA and the DNI; the Attorney General was currently in the bathroom. Even the Secretary of Energy was present; the only person conspicuously missing was the Secretary of State, who was currently on a four day mission across Europe and the Middle East. On a nearby screen, the WNM news anchor read in his monotone voice the events of the day.

"What's the status on Indian Point?" the POTUS asked tiredly.

"The reactor is practically dead. They have the situation under control but we still don't know if we can prevent a meltdown. Even if we can, it's going to be a _long_ time to get it up and running like normal."

"Beautiful," President Bowers said sarcastically. "Can we confirm the reports about the terrorist leader being captured by INTERPOL? John?"

This time, the Director of National Intelligence spoke up. "We have reason to believe that there may be more to this story than what we're getting from INTERPOL. Colonel Lambert, mind showing them what your men found?"

"Thank you, sir. Mr. President, we recently ran an operation in the same Turkish military base where the terrorist leader and his accomplices were captured. We wanted to investigate if our suspect, Lieutenant Colonel Ewari, was answering to someone higher up; this proved to be an incorrect assumption… Sort of. My operative on the ground recorded this conversation."

Lambert took a DVD out of his folder and inserted it into a nearby player. On an LCD projector, the entire conversation and eventual confrontation played out in front of the men in the War Room. "As you saw, the director of operations for INTERPOL was in cahoots, so to speak, with our terrorist, our arms dealer's successor, and our go between. Jin Mao didn't survive his injuries. Ewari is likely to be charged by the Turkish government with treason and likely be killed. And our "mastermind," Marouf bin Aziz, is currently in a jail cell in Poland since the first crime they could officially link him to _was_ the truck bomb that killed Iosef Yanovalinko."

"What's going to happen to Frenaux?" The President questioned.

This time, the Attorney General answered, having finally returning from the men's room. "Absolutely nothing. In all likelihood, this man will get a medal from every nation affected by the crisis and the world will spin on like normal. He'll probably also get a promotion, since this is just the kind of thing INTERPOL needed. For years, that organization has been in a decline because they've been seen as nothing but a database. But, I digress; we can't use this evidence against him because it was obtained by _breaking into an ally's military installation._ We are better off-"

Before the man could finish, the President told the him to shut-up; he then had a marine turn up the volume of the TV due to a breaking report. "My God, we are just getting word that there has been a collapse at the Indian Point Power Facility. We are being told that one of the reactor's protective shells has cracked and fallen and all residents of Rockland, Orange, Westchester, Dutchess, Ulster, Fairfield, Bergen, Passaic, Litchfield – Ah forget it! Anyone within 100 miles of the plant or Westchester county should either evacuate or find a local bomb shelter." At this point, the anchor glared off screen, not caring about the fact the cameras were still rolling, and chastised the producers. "This is a national emergency where every second counts and you want me to read off each county? What are you, stupid? You son of a -"

Over the volume of the TV, the Secretaries of Energy and Homeland Security stood up in unison and said "Long night." Both men promptly left; as they left, the press secretary walked in and began strategizing about how to talk to the American people about this incident. With the Boss distracted, the DNI pulled Lambert aside and brought him out of the room. "If we listen to these guys, we won't be able to get justice for the over 5000 American, French, Palestinian, and Israeli citizens who died 5 days ago. I'm giving your division a new mission; find a way to get evidence against this Frenaux character. Fifth freedom granted."

Lambert merely nodded his head and went for the exit, not caring for a moment that the DNI couldn't possibly authorize such an order without the SecDef. As the DO for 3E headed out, the Intelligence czar looked into the War Room and motioned for the Deputy Director of the CIA to come and talk to him.

* * *

December 10, 2007 

Fort Meade, Maryland

In 3E headquarters, Lambert paced furiously in front of his desk and downed cup after cup of coffee. The television's dull murmur was drowned out by his footsteps. Like a gun shot in the woods, the knock on his soundproof glass door took the Colonel out of his trance; standing with an uncharacteristic grin at the portal was General Clark. With a glance, he signaled for the leader of RAINBOW to enter. "Need any help?" the General asked politely.

With a hint of sarcasm in tone, Lambert replied "It depends. Can you raid the home of a French diplomat and get me every document and bit of information for me?"

After pausing for a moment, Clark cracked his knuckles and flexed his fingers as if stretching. "Me, personally? Nah. I do, however, know four guys who'd be willing and able."

Lambert was taken aback for a moment, and then began to grin himself.

* * *

December 10, 2007 

Hereford, England

On the helipad sat two birds, a UH-60 Blackhawk and a V-22 Osprey. 20 meters away, Sam Fisher stood in black slacks and a white sports coat while the men of RAINBOW wore their respective uniforms. Ding stepped forward and extended his hand to the splinter cell. Fisher returned the gesture, giving the team leader's hand a good shake. "Next time you gentlemen are stateside, I'd be happy to buy a round or two."

"We'll keep in touch. Besides, how many people can say they saved a ninja from a concentration camp?" Ding replied.

* * *

December 10, 2007 

Lyon, France

Like all laws of nature and physics, the Law of Unintended Consequences is always forgotten until it rears its head; tonight was no exception. The attacks on the power plants and the national curfew left Lyon and its suburbs a dark, empty shell. After reaching the city limits together, the Blackhawk and Osprey went their separate ways.

High above the cityscape flew the helicopter carrying the members of RAINBOW Team-2. They chopper flew low and against the wind, to maintain the element of surprise. From the cockpit, the pilot called back into the passenger compartment "ETA three minutes!"

Chavez nodded and glanced at his men, each of who were checking their equipment and giving thumbs up. "Objective in sight!" called the pilot.

In minutes, the chopper was directly over the moderate sized home of the suspected puppet master. With a quick gesture, Chavez cued the men to rappel down the rope by the sides of the helicopter. Once organized into their appropriate positions, the men quietly entered the home. Loiselle and Chavez began searching every computer and file in the house, sparing no bookshelf or desk drawer; Pierce and Vega made sure no one left or entered the house. Towards the end of the search, a gunshot was heard, along with the screams of woman from the upstairs portion of the home. Chavez sped up the stairs and made it all the way to the top of the stairwell when he narrowly missed being shot by a 12 gauge shotgun. When he peered around the corner, the team leader noticed that the source of the gunshots and the source of the screams were one in the same. After pausing a moment to think about it, the Major pulled a particular grenade from his vest and tossed it in the room. In moments, a blinding flash and loud bang quickly forced the frightened woman to the ground. Chavez then ran in and grabbed hold of the woman and nudged his teammate with boot.

Thankfully for Loiselle, the Kevlar vest he wore stopped the bullet and left him merely stunned on the ground. Once he was roused, the French RAINBOW operative spoke to the woman in her native tongue. "We're with the French authorities," he said in French. "Our captain said that this place would be empty and that we'd have free reign. In short, we think your husband may be in trouble. He refused to have the security measures installed in your home but our government insists it happen anyway. It would be best if he doesn't find out; OK?"

The shaken housewife nodded her head and went to the bedroom, clutching her robe tightly. With that distraction taken care of, the rest of the men finished their duties and left.

* * *

December 10, 2007 

INTERPOL HQ, Lyon, France

On the other side of town lay the headquarters for the third largest international non-governmental organization, INTERPOL. Its building was the only one in miles that had running power, thanks to a newly installed generator system. Unlike many of Sam's previous missions, he'd walk right through the front door. In a case handcuffed to his wrist were his goggles and SC-20k (disassembled, of course); underneath the casual clothes was his spy suit and 5.7mm. He approached the security checkpoint with an ID card on his jacket that read authorized him special diplomat-level clearance; it was also nifty for by passing those pesky metal detectors and X-Ray machines. The tired guard gave the splinter cell a look over before he allowed Fisher to pass, pointing him to the appropriate elevator.

When the door closed, Sam positioned himself directly under the camera; from inside his jacket, he took out the silver-dollar sized device with his trusty OCP. At that point, he put on his gloves and unscrewed the light bulbs. In the darkness, he took off his jacket and slacks and assembled his rifle. With everything neatly put away, the splinter cell climbed the trap door on the elevator's ceiling and placed his briefcase in a safe spot. From there, he leapt to a neighboring cable and slid down the adjacent shaft to the basement. A few moments of pulling opened the door to the particular basement floor he wanted.

Fisher looked both ways before sneaking into the open. A brief look at his OPSAT confirmed that the first objective was right around the corner: the generator. By it, two technicians were speaking in French; a small gas grenade took care of them in short order. "There should be a series of levers and switches next to a large button. Go to the one on the far left," Grim stated bluntly in his ear.

"Why can't I just push the big button that says emergency stop?" Fisher asked out of mild curiosity.

"Do you want a battalion of police and firefighters busting into the building?" she retorted.

"Point taken."

In minutes, after following an appropriate sequence of lever pulls, the entire building went dark. From Sam's pocket, he withdrew a flask filled with vodka, which he poured onto and into the mouths of the men; soon after, he placed said flask in the hand of one of the unconscious workers. "Good work, Fisher. Now we just need you to get to Frenaux's office and retrieve any incriminating evidence. You'll have about a half hour before they have anyone go and restart the."

When he heard that, Sam turned around and looked at one of the diesel storage tanks, which lay right next to the generator's exhaust pipes. He fiddled around with the valves until the contents began to leak. "What are you doing?" Lambert asked.

"If they have no fuel, they won't be able to start the generator as soon. It gives me more time."

"Good thinking. You probably have another hour or so; now get on with your mission before you waste the time you just gained."

15 minutes and 120 feet later, the splinter cell was able to climb to the necessary floor; apparently the genius who built the elevator shafts neglected to install the ladder written into the blueprints. Luckily, on the other side of the sliding metal door, was nothing. The nearest reception desk was around the bend and no one was in their cubicles. Sam walked into the hall and immediately went back into the doorway when a light shined in his direction. _Damn flashlights._

"Who's there?" inquired the armed guard in French. The man came within inches of the corner and was grabbed by Sam, who slammed the man into a wall, threw him on the ground and put him in a headlock. "Why are you packing so much heat to guard an administrative building?" Fisher asked.

"Ah. I don't work for INTERPOL. Monsieur Frenaux hired me," the choked man replied.

"Why does he need that kind of protection?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do."

"Well, OK, I might know. He's talking to someone from the American government about an upcoming piece of legislation. It has something to do with the reorganizing of INTERPOL."

"Just one more question; how many more men do you have here?"

"Eh, eight; two are with Frenaux right now."

"Merci."

In Fisher's head, he heard the 6 words he'd been waiting to hear. "Fifth freedom with our new visitors," spoke Lambert into the implant.

In a quick moment, the splinter cell knocked the merc on the head and tossed him into the elevator shaft. "Fisher, we need you to not only get those files from Frenaux's office, but we're going to listen to this conversation; hopefully we'll have a clue as to who this American is."

The rest of the hallway was quiet. Much of this portion of the building was being overhauled to have a new, upgradeable fiber optic IT network installed. Sam came upon the door of the objective's office and snaked the fiber optic cable underneath. The pale blue light from the laptop's plasma screen was the only source of light in the room. Around the table were two pacing mercenaries, each armed with FAMAS assault rifles. Instead of the VoIP phone on the desk, Frenaux was using a wireless headset. Sam opened the door ever so slightly and hacked the frequency of the headset.

"Yes, I understand, Mr. Frenaux. I can't help it though if the Speaker doesn't want to push that kind of legislation at this time. He's a stubborn guy." The voice on the other side of the line stated bluntly.

"I don't care. A deal is a deal. The United States is spared a full blown attack and in return your Congress passes the treaty. I refuse to believe that as Attorney General you have no say in law enforcement matters."

"It's not an all powerful position. Look, I have to give a presentation to the Joint Congressional Committee on the Attacks of December 5th tomorrow. Maybe the Chairman will listen to me then. I've got to go. I'll talk to you about this tomorrow."

Without a hesitation, the line went dead. "Jesus Christ…" Lambert said, frustrated, under his breath.

"I don't think it was _him_ on the other line..."

"I'm going to report to my superiors on this. Fisher, complete your mission and exfiltrate at the parking lot."

Fisher looked back in the room and noticed that only the two mercs were left inside. He poked his gun through the crack in the door and fired a sticky camera on the far wall. From his OPSAT, Sam made it whistle loud noises to draw the attention of the armed men. As they approached the device, a container of gas was released; in seconds, the men were unconscious on the ground. After picking up the device, the splinter cell hacked into the laptop and stole any files he'd need. One quick trip to the file cabinet and he was all set. The splinter cell was about to exit the door he'd come through in but stopped when he saw it was opening. Sam swiftly darted to a dark corner and kept one hand on his pistol. In the portal was a trio of mercenaries. One turned to his comrade in the back of the formation and reported "Belloso isn't in here. Maybe your partner went upstairs."

Instead of reaching for his pistol, Sam unslung his rifle and loaded the launcher with three airfoil rounds. He took steady aim and held his breath. Thud. Thud. Thud. In seconds, all three mercs were on the ground. He collected the ring airfoils and dragged two of the bodies by the arms over to the elevator shaft. Fisher returned later with the third. _Found him._

The splinter cell made his way down the elevator shaft and came upon his old briefcase. With civilian clothes on and his rifle packed away, Fisher went ahead and climbed to the nearest elevator door and opened it. On the other end was a startled mercenary, who pointed his rifle at Sam. "What the hell were you doing in that elevator shaft?" he commanded.

"The lift got stuck when the power crapped out. And I didn't feel like staying trapped in there."

He thought about it for a moment, and then decided to let Sam go.


End file.
